Not a Number
by Rhianona
Summary: xover with Harry Potter. No. 6 moves next door to Harry Potter, and mentors him.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: The Prisoner and Harry Potter do not belong to me. _

_**Author's Note: **Much thanks to the members of the Caer Azkaban yahoo group, who have provided feedback and concrit throughout my writing process for this. _

_****_

_Privet Drive, 1989_

The man once given the designation of Number 6, but more commonly known as John Drake, sneered with mild disgust as he entered his new neighborhood. His beloved Roadster, now no longer the height of fashion, but ever still his pride and joy, looked completely out of place here. The houses on Privet Drive, located in Little Whinging, Surrey, looked exactly alike, nothing to distinguish one house from the other save for the presence of a fence, or lack thereof. Even now, some thirty years after his experience in the Village, he got hives when he saw such uniformity. He thought it all rather unnatural.

But needs must and it had been time to move on once again. He frowned in distaste as he inadvertently reminded himself of why he never remained in one place for long. Though he had not seen hide nor hair of those responsible for the Village since its destruction he did not believe they had truly disappeared. And so, he moved, reestablishing himself every few years in a different city, a different country. When he had to decide where he was to live this time, he had opted to return to the country of his birth, the first time in over twenty years. He had used an estate agent and acceded to her suggestion of a lovely two bedroom located in the heart of suburbia. With a sense of the absurd, he had agreed that Number 6, Privet Drive was the most suitable home she had located for him. Viewing it now, he rather thought that he would not remain here for too long and instead "retire" to a warmer clime within a few years.

And so, with some reluctance, John Drake arrived at his new residence on Privet Drive. Little did he know that instead of moving as soon as possible, he would remain, in this neighborhood of cookie cutter homes for more years than he expected and all because of a little boy named Harry Potter.

***

In his short life, Harry Potter had learned that no one on Privet Drive, or the surrounding streets, or really anywhere he tended to ramble, ever had anything to say to him. His aunt and uncle had ensured that no adult believed him to be anything but a troublesome young boy; Dudley had taken care of the neighborhood children. Although he did not know why his family hated him, young Harry had come to accept his lot in life, quietly completing the chores his aunt foisted on him and trying to avoid his cousin and uncle.

To say he was surprised when the man who had moved into Number 6 Privet Drive that past Saturday deigned to greet him as Harry scurried past him, intent on getting home so that he could finish his chores as quickly as possible, would be an understatement. He came to a halt and gaped at the man, dressed in black trousers with a black blazer edged in white over a black shirt.

"Hello sir," he replied in greeting, his green eyes blinking myopically from his ill-fitted glasses. Perhaps the other neighbors hadn't yet had a chance to warn him of the disreputable scalawag that lived at Number 4 by the good grace of his suffering aunt and uncle. Harry could not conceive of any other reason for the man to speak to him.

His new neighbor smiled, lifting a hand to his head in a modified salute, his thumb and forefinger forming an "o" as he moved aside to allow Harry to pass him on the sidewalk. "Be seeing you," he commented as Harry smiled hesitantly in return. While his new neighbor had piqued his curiosity, he really did need to get home before Aunt Petunia decided to add more chores to his list in punishment. As he entered the door of Number 4, he glanced back at his new neighbor, who it seemed, was heading to the park. He seemed nice, Harry thought, though soon afterwards any thoughts of Mr. Drake were driven out of his mind as Aunt Petunia demanded to know why he had not started preparing Dudley's snack as of yet. As he set to work, he couldn't help but think it unlikely he would ever receive such a polite greeting from his new neighbor again. It saddened him, as he would have liked to have someone speak kindly to him.

***

He might never have been a parent, or ever had the desire to involve himself in his neighbors' affairs, but even Drake knew that the manner, in which the residents of Privet Drive and the surrounding streets treated one Harry Potter, did not constitute normal behavior. The boy seemed nice enough, politely greeting him when he passed him on the street. However, Drake had also noticed the half-hidden surprise in the child's eyes whenever he greeted him on the street. He surmised that the young Mr. Potter did not expect such ordinary politeness as a simple "hello" or "good day."

His suspicions were further roused, when he spotted the young boy weeding the garden in front of No. 4, whilst his cousin mocked him, proving to be more of a hindrance than help with that chore. From what he could tell, the boy's aunt and uncle did nothing to stop such behavior. Indeed, as his neighbor at No. 3 related to him in appropriately hushed terms, the boy was nothing but trouble, a young hoodlum, who, despite Mr. and Mrs. Dursleys' best efforts, refused to behave like a proper young gentleman. He, himself, did not pretend to understand this line of thought, and it did not take long for him to decide to help the poor child.

***

Of course, deciding his course of action was one thing; it still required a great deal of planning. After all, he could scarcely go up to Mr. Dursley and question his attitude and behavior towards his own ward. Instead, Drake carefully observed his neighbors, treating it as he had one of his assignments in years past.

The Dursleys seemed to take a ridiculous amount of time ensuring they presented the proper image that reflected their perceived standing within the neighborhood. Mrs. Dursley loved to gossip, even as she blithely ignored the rumblings about her son. Mr. Dursley liked the appearance of normality, of the socially upward man he acted. The son ran around with a gang of like-minded children, who tormented those smaller than they, vandalized the park and in general, acted like the little bullies they were. Which left Mr. Potter. As near as Drake could tell, Mr. Potter did not deserve the reputation he seemed to have gained. Indeed, he appeared a hard worker, and despite the manner in which he was treated, a kind young man.

Approximately a week after Drake began his observations, he had outlined the bare bones of his plan. As he had learned long ago, it was best to go simple, rather than complicated. And so, he approached Mr. Dursley about hiring his nephew to do some of the chores around his own home. Not that he needed the help, but Mr. Dursley did not need to know that.

"I'll pay of course," he stated indifferently. "I just don't have the patience to work on the gardens."

"Quite understandable," Mr. Dursley nodded his head. "Of course Potter learned all he knows from my wife, Petunia. Oh, but Petunia certainly loves her garden."

"Indeed." Drake did not let any of his disbelief enter his voice. She apparently enjoyed it so much, that she never went out there, unless it was to scream at the boy. "I'm certain he shall do just fine. I don't want anything fancy, just something simple."

"Tomorrow morning, then?"

"Yes, that will be fine. Let's say ten o'clock."

Mr. Dursley could not agree fast enough. He escorted Drake out of the house, pasting a smile on his face. Drake, for his part, hurried home, intent on readying the next part of his plan. In truth, his gardens did not need a lot of work, just a bit of weed picking, a bit of a trimming of the verge. Just enough for a small boy to do in one day, without overworking him.

***

Uncle Vernon instructed him – well, roared at him really – to arrive on time at Mr. Drake's house. "Don't you do anything… freakish, Boy!" his uncle had coldly ordered. Harry had frantically assured he would not, while feeling helpless at the same time. He did not know why strange things happened around him, but they did, and he had no control over it. He just hoped that nothing bad would happen today. Uncle Vernon would not be happy if it did.

"Hello, Mr. Drake," he greeted quietly as the man opened his door.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. You're here exactly on time. Come in." Harry followed his neighbor into his house, and saw it looked quite similar to No. 4. "Have you eaten breakfast?"

Harry did not know what to say. Aunt Petunia had given him the heels of the bread and a piece of cheese for breakfast. He was still hungry, but Aunt Petunia would not like it if Mr. Drake did not think she fed him. He chewed his lip and he tried to figure out the best way to answer.

"Well, no matter. You can join me. I am having a late breakfast," Mr. Drake decided for him.

"Thank you, sir."

Breakfast consisted of eggs, oatmeal, and milk. Despite his protests, Mr. Drake had filled his plate with the food. "You're a growing boy. I remember when I was your age. I ate everything in sight." Harry could do nothing else but thank the man. "Now, then. I don't have too much for you to do today. But I will need help around the house, in general. So if you and your uncle are amenable, you can come here every week."

Harry nodded. He hoped Mr. Drake liked his work today. Uncle Vernon would not be happy if Mr. Drake complained. And getting out of the house, even if it was just one day a week, would be nice. When the Dursleys did not have any work for him to do, they locked him in his cupboard.

***

Drake watched as the young boy devoured the food placed before him. The young boy was extraordinarily polite, and helped with the dishes before Drake showed him what he wanted done. "Take all the time you need," he cautioned. "And make sure you drink enough water." No need for the boy to become dehydrated.

He watched as the child carefully weeded and took care of the garden, and contemplated his next move. As near as he could tell, the Dursleys were only guilty of neglect and indifference. For that, Drake was glad. It meant he did not have to involve the police. He did not wish to bring attention of the police onto him. As far as he knew, the people who ran the Village did not look for him any longer, but he did not wish to take any chances. No, instead he could do his best to help the boy. He figured that the aunt and uncle would not want anyone to know that the life they presented to the world was merely a façade, so would likely agree to whatever Drake set up with them.

As he discovered two weeks later, his suppositions were correct. Drake did not take full custody of Harry, but the boy stayed and slept over at No. 6 Privet Drive three to four nights during the week. All it took was overhearing a comment by the Dursley's son about Harry sleeping in a cupboard - a conversation he had engineered though he had not expected to hear something as damning as that. Drake had promptly gone to No. 4 to ask the Dursleys about it, and "accidentally" found Harry in his cupboard. A short and clipped conversation later, the Dursleys agreed with Drake's suggestion that perhaps their nephew should spend time with him – and that their son should perhaps clean out his "second bedroom" for Harry to have. The Dursleys grabbed at the chance to keep up appearance of normality, and did not give him any trouble.

***

Harry did not quite understand why Mr. Drake had taken such an interest in him, but he did not mind, not when it meant he had his own room (two, if he counted the room in No. 6 as well – which he did), and an adult that looked out for him. Of course, Uncle Vernon had threatened him if he did anything freakish enough for Mr. Drake to notice, or question the Dursleys about it, or decide he wanted nothing to do with Harry. Aunt Petunia had explained with a sniff, that as long as Mr. Drake wanted the Freak, he could have him. Harry didn't mind. His neighbor treated him better than his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, and moreover, because of his interest, the Dursleys had taken to ignoring him on the days he did spend with them.

From Mr. Drake, Harry learned what it meant to have a role model in his life, one who expressed interest in his daily life, and who wanted to see Harry succeed. Most surprisingly of all, Mr. Drake took it upon himself to teach Harry skills he would not gain at school.

"When I was young, sports were an important part of our schooling. Not so much these days," Mr. Drake commented. "Football is all well and good, but you should know how to protect yourself." And so, in the afternoons, Mr. Drake brought him down to the basement of No. 6 and started teaching him boxing and fencing. Not wanting to have to return to the Dursleys, Harry awkwardly copied the stances and movements he was shown. Mr. Drake always complimented him, even if Harry felt like he was falling over his feet.

Mr. Drake's lessons did not just extend to the physical. "Harry, the most important tool you have is your brain. Learn what you can, when you can. Always question everything around you." He took to quizzing Harry about his surroundings, about the people they met on the street or in the store. Or he would ask Harry to make connections between the various topics he studied at school. He also insisted that Harry read the newspaper and that he understood the reasons behind current events.

Slowly, under Mr. Drake's tutelage, Harry began to blossom, a fact picked up on by the residents of Privet Drive. No longer did housewives of Privet Drive scold Harry for every perceived infraction. Instead, they looked on him with something akin to approval. If asked, Mr. Drake laid the change on the shoulders of the Dursleys, merely stating that he had advised the couple of some new methods he had learned whilst abroad, on how to get a recalcitrant child to behave. If no one precisely believed him – after all they had seen that Harry seemed to live at least a portion of the week with Drake – they did not mention it within the hearing of the Dursleys. This new attitude towards Harry also meant that Dudley and his gang did not have the opportunity to bother him, as Mr. Drake continued to look out for him.

By the time school broke for the summer, Harry had a vastly different life than the one he had once had. He didn't know why Mr. Drake had opted to interfere with his life, but he was more than happy he had.

***

_July 1, 1991_

Life on Privet Drive had continued as it had since John Drake involved himself in one Harry Potter's life and well-being. The boy spent all but two or three days with Drake, and in return, the former secret agent gave him the foundations to succeed in life. Much to his astonishment, teaching Harry the various skills he himself had learned as a youngster, had not lost its appeal. His young neighbor soaked up all the attention and learning Drake gave to him, and in return, kept him company, or did some small chores around No. 6. It had come as a small surprise for Drake to realize that, despite his initial misgivings, he rather enjoyed living here, and he canceled his tentative plans to relocate. He figured he would remain in Little Whinging until Harry left for university. Unlike his cousin, Harry would be attending the local comprehensive, and would return home each day. And while the Dursleys had improved in their attitude towards their nephew since Drake had moved to Privet Drive and taken Harry under his wing, he suspected it was due, in part, to Harry living with Drake for a good portion of the week. He didn't wish for them to revert to their original behavior, something he knew would happen if he left Privet Drive.

Unbeknownst to Drake, however, their quiet life in Little Whinging was about to change. Harry sat at the breakfast table, quietly reading the newspaper in preparation for the upcoming quiz Drake would give him after the meal. Drake calmly finished his tea, the latest edition of _The Economist_ before him. All in all, it was a typical morning for the two of them, which was why the owl that arrived with a letter surprised them both.

"Is this for me?" Harry asked, as he examined the letter dropped by his plate. The owl looked at Harry, before nodding its head. It stole a bit of bacon from his plate, before winging away. Harry turned to his mentor, wondering if the man had an answer.

"What is it, Harry?"

Harry turned it around in his hands, fingers touching and learning the feel of the heavy parchment. He frowned, with some degree of concentration, at the green ink that spelled out his name and Drake's address. Turning it over, he saw a seal covering the flap. "Well, whoever sent this seemed to know I would be staying with you today," he ventured. Drake frowned with concern. Normally, Harry would be with the Dursleys; however, they were currently visiting Marge Dursley and Drake had offered to watch Harry while they were away.

"And what might that mean?" he encouraged. He wondered who watched them; he had not seen any signs of it, but what else could explain the address?

"That we're… no – I'm being watched."

"Very good, Harry," Drake praised. "What else?" he asked, curious to see what other observations the boy would make.

"They used some sort of funny-feeling paper, and an owl to deliver it. Maybe it's a joke? But why use an owl?"

"A very good question, Harry," Drake nodded with approval. "Let me take a look at it, before we open it. Can't be too careful."

It was as Harry had told him. Most troublesome of all, the letter even identified the room in which they sat. He frowned, not liking what all that indicated. He felt a frisson of paranoia down his spine, and wondered if perhaps he had lingered too long. Maybe he should move, leave the country and go underground again. He could probably convince the Dursleys to give him custody over Harry.

And yet… something about the parchment and owl triggered the feeling of familiarity within Drake, as if he had once seen something like this in the past. He frowned in thought as he turned the parchment over and saw the stylized seal. _Interesting _he thought. Again, the familiarity tugged at his mind.

"You may open it, Harry," he finally said, holding the letter out to his charge. Harry accepted it with his own frown, before very carefully break the seal and unfolding the parchment. Drake watched as Harry's eyes grew wider and wider, filled with an incredulous light.

"Mr. Drake! It… It's from a _school_!" He handed over the contents without Drake needing to ask. "It must be a joke. There is no such thing as witches and wizards!"

Drake raised an eyebrow at this. He looked over the letter, his own eyes widening at the information contained within. A memory teased at him, and he closed his eyes, trying to bring it to the forefront of his mind. Harry remained quiet, letting him think. Slowly, he remembered; not much, just a carelessly dropped comment during a mission he got pulled from in Romania. Something about the mission being better suited to the wandwavers and not proper agents. It wasn't a lot to go on, but perhaps it wasn't a code word, as he had assumed at the time, but an actual description.

"You might be right, Harry," he finally said. "But remember, we never make conclusions until we have all the facts. So, you will pen a polite reply to the school, and ask for more information."

Harry nodded in understanding, but Drake could read the skepticism that practically radiated off of him. Still, he obeyed Drake's instructions. "But how will I get this to them? They did not leave a return address?" he queried.

"Did the letter not say that they away your owl?" Drake asked. Even as he completed the sentence, the very same owl that had delivered the letter winged to the table. They looked at it with no small degree of suspicion before Harry shrugged and attached his reply to the outstretched leg. As soon as he finished, the owl flew away.

"Finish with breakfast, Harry. We still have work to do today," Drake instructed. Harry nodded his agreement and returned his attention to the newspaper.

***

A week later, a stranger rang the doorbell to No. 4 Privet Drive. Harry opened the door to find a rather stern looking woman before him.

"Hello, I am looking for Mr. Harry Potter. I am Minerva McGonagall, one of the teachers at Hogwarts. Mr. Potter indicated he wished to know more about our offer," she introduced herself.

"Please come in, Miss McGonagell," Harry politely greeted. "I will just let my aunt and uncle know you are here." He left her in the living room, before finding his relatives. He almost wished that the teacher had visited on a day when he stayed at Mr. Drake's. However, Mr. Drake had explained that it would be better if the school dealt with his aunt and uncle, mostly because they were his legal guardians. That was why they had to wait until the Dursley's had returned from visiting Aunt Marge.

"Who is it, boy?" a gruff male voice asked from the kitchen.

"It is one of the teachers from Hogwarts," he informed them. His uncle merely grunted, while Aunt Petunia got a pinched look on her face.

"Humph. Suppose you want us to go and speak to her?" his uncle grumbled.

Aunt Petunia rose to her feet with great reluctance. "I'll go, Vernon. You stay here."

She followed him into the living room and limply held out a hand in greeting to the other woman. "Hello. Are you here to tell…" a barely noticed pause, before she continued "Harry about the… magical world?"

"Yes. My name is Minerva McGonagall. I am one of the teachers at Hogwarts," the teacher introduced herself.

"How… lovely," Aunt Petunia replied, looking faintly ill at having shook the other's hand. "I will leave you to explain things to him, then." She retreated back to the kitchen as quickly as she could, but not before giving Harry a look. One that Harry interpreted to mean as not doing anything… freakish to the furniture.

"Thank you for coming to answer some questions for me," Harry finally said, interrupting the uncomfortable silence that had descended after his aunt's departure.

"Your aunt and uncle do not want to sit in while I explain?" she asked.

"Oh, no," Harry said, forcing a smile to his lips. As if they would be interested in anything that had to do with him. "They trust that I will let them know anything they need to know." Harry felt quite skeptical about magic. Not even his relative's assertion that magic was real, that his parents had been a witch and a wizard, assured him of its existence. But, as Mr. Drake constantly lectured, one did not simply make a decision without all the information. Miss McGonagall would now have the opportunity to convince him magic existed. Even then, he would wait to see what Mr. Drake thought, before agreeing to attend Hogwarts.

The teacher nodded uncertainly. "I see. Well, Mr. Potter, you certainly have the look of your father."

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You knew my father?"

"Oh, yes. Your mother too. I was their teacher when they went to Hogwarts."

"So, they were witches and wizards?" He guessed the Dursleys had not lied about that.

"Among the finest of their year," McGonagall related with a small smile. "Now, then. Your letter indicated you had several questions you wanted to ask?" she prompted.

"Yes, I did. My aunt and uncle have not told me anything about magic. Can you please demonstrate an example of it?" He tried to keep his skepticism from his voice. A part of him willingly believed that she spoke the truth about magic as it explained so much about the Dursley's behavior towards him. However, he had never heard of or seen anything that proved the existence of magic. Under Mr. Drake's tutelage, he had stopped simply accepting anything put before him. He liked to collect as much information as possible, solicit opinions of others, and then make up his mind. It was a skill Mr. Drake actively encouraged.

Miss McGonagall demonstrated magic, turning a table into a pig, floating a biro that had formerly laid still on an end table, and lastly, turning herself into a cat and back again. Whilst logic would dictate that magic did not exist, her actions implied quite strongly that it did. He felt that even Mr. Drake could not deny that she showed him magic – or at least something that greatly resembled it.

She patiently answered each and every question Harry posed to her, ranging in topic from the subjects taught at Hogwarts, to the tuition, to job possibilities after graduation. Finally, he felt that he had received as much information as he possibly could, carefully penning it into the notebook he had gotten specifically for this occasion. Mr. Drake would be proud of him.

"Are you ready, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked, as Harry finally seemed to run out of questions.

"Yep!" Harry chirped enthusiastically. "I'll just let my aunt and uncle know that we are leaving."

"Are you sure they do not want to accompany us?" she asked.

"Oh no," Harry responded. "They're far too busy to come with us." They also had made it more than clear that they wanted nothing to do with such "freakish nonsense" unless they absolutely must. Harry did not want to strain their tolerance. He smiled a bit disarmingly at her, before running off to tell his relatives he was leaving. They barely acknowledged him, but that was okay with Harry. He didn't actually expect them to care.


	2. Chapter 2

Contrary to popular belief, Vernon Dursley was not a stupid man – at least when it came to his own comforts. If his nephew wished to attend that freak school, he would not stand in his way. Let him go, let him learn freakish ways. It did not matter to him.

Once it would have. He could admit that, to himself, if not to anyone else. He still shuddered at the thought of magic – such an abnormal thing! He wanted no truck with it, not in his house. He and Petunia had done their best to stamp out any unnatural tendencies the boy had displayed, even going so far as to force him to live in the cupboard under the stair.

And then that Drake fellow had moved into No. 6. Vernon gritted his teeth just thinking about the man. He had stuck his nose into the Dursley's business, taking an interest in the boy and suddenly, Vernon had found himself giving the boy poor Dudley's second bedroom! It was almost unconscionable! Only his fear of appearing abnormal had kept him from not following the carefully worded suggestion (threat, if Vernon was honest) that Drake had given him.

Now, almost two years later, he had to admit that he had gotten a good bargain. Yes, Dudley had lost his second bedroom, and he and Petunia had had to assuage his tantrum with a few new toys, but his own aggravation with his nephew had all but disappeared. The boy stayed at No. 6 more than he did at the Dursleys. When at No. 4, he quietly did all the chores they asked of him, and stayed quietly in his room. More importantly, Vernon had observed a marked decrease in horrible freakish behavior.

Petunia did not understand his growing sanguinity towards her nephew. She truly hated the magical world, blaming it for taking away her parents - and even her sister. Vernon did not care for it much either. At the same time, he did not oppose the boy attending the freak school.

A casual observer might ask why. Simply put, it kept the boy away from the Dursley's home for ten whole months. Drake had given them a taste of what life without the boy was like. Oh, he still spent at least two or three days and nights at No. 4, but for all intents and purposes, he lived at No. 6. Vernon did not think that would change, if the boy went away to school for ten months.

Another part of Vernon gleefully hoped that the boy would tell Drake about magic, that he was a wizard. Drake's casual superiority and championing of the boy grated at Vernon's nerves. No normal person could believe in magic. It would be worth having to put up with the boy living full time with them, if it meant that Drake no longer looked at the boy with pride, or sought to protect him, or mentor him.

So no, Vernon would not keep the boy from the freaks or the freak school. Let him attend. It would give him more peace.

***

Harry followed Miss McGonagall through the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley. Before they had entered the pub, she had warned him to keep his head covered. When he had questioned why, she had simply said she would explain later. Considering that covering one's head did not seem a requirement for the witches and wizards he saw within the pub, he assumed she had another reason for her instruction. He made a note to investigate on his own her reasoning - if she failed to tell him.

Diagon Alley did not resemble any of the shops he had visited before. Well, the basic idea remained the same, but the goods and merchandise enclosed within the shops did not look like anything he had seen before in his life. His guide strode down the street, narrating as they went along.

"We'll stop by Gringotts – that's our bank – first. Then we'll get your supplies," she informed him. "Gringotts' employs goblins. Don't stare too much."

After they reached the bank, Harry understood the warning. The goblins looked mean and dangerous. He knew instinctively that he did not want to mess with them. He followed Miss McGonagall to a teller, and watched as she produced his bank key. He wanted to ask why she had it, but remembered to hold his tongue in time, afraid he would sound as if he was accusing her of something nefarious. Mr. Drake had always told him to wait until he had all his information before accusing someone. And while Mr. Drake had not joined them on this trip, he knew his minder well enough to realize that the two of them would return to Diagon Alley at a later date. He would wait until then to ask the goblins about his key and account.

Harry swiveled his head, trying to take everything in as they walked through the street, his companion taking him into the necessary shops and helping him pick out his supplies with an efficiency that reminded Harry of Mr. Drake. She did not give him time to dawdle, though she did let him take some time in the bookstore. She had gotten a small smile on her face when he had asked her for some recommendations. "Your mother asked the very same thing," she commented. "You might look like your father, but maybe you have more of Lily in you than her eyes."

Conscious of her observing eyes, Harry made sure to only pick up the books she recommended in addition to his school books. He did, however, make note of other books of interest. Mr. Drake would not begrudge his purchase of them when they returned. After all, his neighbor constantly encouraged his habit of reading, deeming it one of the best ways to discover information. Mr. Drake believed in gathering as much facts as possible before making a decision.

The only uncomfortable moment in this trip came when they went to get his wand. Mr. Ollivander had surprised him, stepping out of the shadows as he did. It had taken a while to find his wand, and Harry kept glancing at his escort, worried she might get angry at the delay. She must have read his fear, as she hastened to reassure him. "Buying a wand can take a while, Mr. Potter. I will still return you to your aunt and uncle in time for the evening meal."

"Never fear, Mr. Potter. I love tricky customers. Keeps me on my toes," Mr. Ollivander chimed in. And so they continued, looking for the proper wand for Harry. It took a while, but eventually the wandmaker found the "perfect" fit for Harry.

"Curious… most curious…" Mr. Ollivander commented, almost absently as he took Harry's money for the wand.

"Excuse me, but what is curious?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"I remember every wand that I ever sold, Mr. Potter. The phoenix that donated the feather for your wand, donated only one other. It is curious that I should sell to you this wand, when its brother gave you your scar."

"My scar?" Harry asked confused. "How do you know about my scar?"

"That's enough, Mr. Potter," Miss McGonagall interrupted. "We've taken enough of Mr. Ollivander's time."

Harry froze as the two adults stared at each other. Obviously, Mr. Ollivander knew something about him that Miss McGonagall did not want Harry to know. Therefore, Harry wanted to know. But, having grown up with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, he knew better than to push for answers. He would wait until he returned to Diagon Alley with Mr. Drake to find his answers.

"You mean to let him go to Hogwarts without telling him anything?" Mr. Ollivander asked.

"Of course not! But there is a time and a place. This is not it." She grabbed Harry by the hand and dragged him out into the street. She sighed heavily, as she caught Harry's curious gaze. "You have questions," she stated.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry opted for honesty.

"Very well. We have finished shopping, and have enough time for tea before I return you home. Come along."

They returned to the Leaky Cauldron, and Miss McGonagall procured an isolated table for them. After their ordered beverages arrived, she began. "The wizarding world is much like the muggle world. Magic does not take away war, or bigotry. When your parents were in school, a wizard rose up – we call him You-Know-Who – very few people can say his name. He was a terrible wizard, steeped in the Dark Arts. He drew a following of like-minded wizards. They all believed in the purity of blood. They believed that witches and wizards like your mother, who was muggleborn, did not belong in the wizarding world. After they graduated from Hogwarts, your parents and their friends joined in the fight against him. The war was quite terrible, until one night, it suddenly ended. You-Know-Who attacked your parents, and killed them. Somehow, when he tried to kill you, the spell backlashed and you defeated him. Headmaster Dumbledore brought you to your aunt and uncle to raise, because he feared you would not have a normal childhood, if you were raised in the wizarding world. You're known as the Boy-Who-Lived, Mr. Potter, because You-Know-Who cast the Killing curse at you, and there is no way to defend against it. Yet, you lived and he did not. The only evidence of it, is your scar, the one Mr. Ollivander noticed." She took a deep sip from her mug of tea.

Harry looked at her in growing astonishment. On the one hand, he felt angry that someone had simply left him with his aunt and uncle with the assumption that they would give him a better childhood than growing up in the world of his parents would. He also couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Ollivander had not mentioned his scar, whether Miss McGonagall would have mentioned his past. It bothered him, in part because of the effect it had on _him_. "What is You-Know-Who's name?" he asked.

She frowned. "It is considered bad luck to say it, Mr. Potter." He stared at her stubbornly. "Fine. It is… Voldemort," she whispered. She finished her mug of tea. "Are you ready to return home?" she asked. Harry nodded. He had a lot of information to digest, and a lot to tell Mr. Drake. The sooner he returned home, the sooner Mr. Drake could help him put it all together.

***

Miss McGonagall left Harry at the front door of No. 4. She had unshrunk his purchases, and even cast a featherweight charm on the goods, to make it easier for him to bring to his room. He knew better than to show them to his aunt and uncle, and figured that secreting them away as soon as possible would make them happy. "Thank you for taking me to buy my supplies," Harry told her.

"Mr. Potter, I look forward to seeing you on September 1. Remember, Platform 9 and ¾, in King's Cross Station. You will walk through a pillar located between platforms 9 and 10. This will take you to the Hogwarts Express, which will bring you to Hogwarts." She gave another stiff smile before leaving.

Harry entered No. 4, and quickly brought his purchases up the stairs, careful to avoid hitting the walls with his trunk. He did not need to antagonize his uncle by accidentally scuffing the paint. Especially since he would have the job of fixing it. Only after he had put his new things away did he go downstairs.

"Hello Aunt Petunia," he greeted. "Do you need help with dinner?" He had learned it best to volunteer his help rather than wait for her to ask. It meant he did not have to do nearly as much, and made his relatives happier with him.

"Got all your things then," she sniffed.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied cautiously.

"Keep it away from Dudley," she ordered. "Go and set the table. We'll be eating soon."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." He knew that no one else in the house would ask about his day, or what he had bought today. He kept quiet, content to wait until he visited Mr. Drake to discuss what he had learned. This was life with the Dursleys. He could live with it, if it meant he did not have to live in the cupboard under the stairs, or wear overly large, hand-me-down clothes. The Dursleys could ignore him as much as they wished, if it only meant he could still spend the majority of his time with the one adult that cared for him, that looked out for him, that nurtured him. The Dursleys might be his legal guardians, but most everyone acknowledged that Mr. Drake raised Harry.

***

"Did you enjoy your day with the school representative, Harry?" Drake asked the next day. Harry had dashed over to No. 6 early in the morning, carrying several of the books he had purchased for Mr. Drake to review. "Did they convince you magic is real?"

"Oh yes," Harry replied. "I asked Miss McGonagall to demonstrate some magic for me. First, she turned a table into a pig. She made a biro float too! Then she turned into a cat."

"Really? How extraordinary!" Drake commented, eyebrows rising at his descriptions. From what Harry described, it did, in fact, appear that magic was real. "And did you enjoy your excursion into the wizarding world?"

For the most part," Harry replied. "The wizarding world is… strange."

"You can tell me all about it, after breakfast."

After their meal, Drake and Harry went to the living room, where Harry showed his purchases to Drake. "It seems as if most of your classes correspond to ones you would take at a normal school," Drake commented, as he looked over the books.

"Yeah, but no English or maths."

"You'll have to study it during the summer."

Harry nodded, having already figured that Drake would say that. "Miss McGonagall told me some stuff," he began hesitantly. "About my parents and me."

Drake looked at his unhappy young charge. "What did she say?" He listened with growing concern as Harry related the information Miss McGonagall had told him. "We'll need to find out more information about this. I won't feel comfortable with sending you to Hogwarts until we know more of what to expect."

"I knew you would say that!" Harry grinned cheekily.

"That's because I've taught you well."

***

Drake and Harry didn't visit Diagon Alley until they had both read the books that Harry had bought. Truthfully, Drake did not know if he really believed in magic, despite Harry's assurances to the contrary. He wanted to see it at work himself. From what Harry had said about Diagon Alley, he knew he would see examples of magic if he visited. Thus, two weeks after Harry had first been re-introduced to the wizarding world, he and Drake made their way to the Leaky Cauldron. They followed the same strategy as McGonagall had suggested the first time, by covering Harry's scar before entering. Their first stop was to the bank. Drake thought it a good idea to make sure that no one else had a key to Harry's account, as well as to find out if he had any other accounts. "It's suspicious that she had possession of your key, Harry. Let us see if she hides anything else from you."

"Excuse me, sir," Harry asked politely. "I had a question about my account. Is there someone else I should ask, or can I ask you?"

The goblin looked down its long nose at Harry, seeming to take his measure, before snapping out an answer. "Down the hall, and to the right. See Grabsnuck."

"Thank you," Harry replied, bowing his head a little.

Grabsnuck had a tiny office, one that clearly illustrated how busy he was, if the piles of parchment that towered over most of it indicated anything. After seating the two, he stared at them. "Well. What did you want to know?" he finally asked.

Harry started at the abrupt question. Drake decided to take charge for the moment, since he was the adult. "Our apologies," he smoothly said. "My young charge here has a few questions regarding his account."

"Yes, yes. What is it?"

"Harry is an orphan, and was not aware of his account here until he visited two weeks ago. His guide held his key. We want to make sure no one else has access to his account, and would like to see his account activity for the last decade. Additionally, he wishes to know whether that is his only account in this fine establishment."

The goblin stared at the two of them, before grunting. "Key please." Harry handed him the small golden key Miss McGonagall had given to him. "I need a drop of your blood," the goblin stated, handing over a small knife. Drake took it from the goblin and made a small slash in Harry's hand. Harry then dripped it onto a parchment that the goblin held out to them. After wiping the knife with a handkerchief, Drake handed it back to the goblin.

The goblin placed the key over the parchment and mumbled some words in a language Drake did not recognize. He assumed the goblin performed some sort of magic as there was a flash and a bang; the previously blank parchment appeared to have some writing on it.

"You now have the only key. This key accesses your trust vault. You cannot access your main vault until you are 17. Do you wish to allow anyone else to access your vaults?" Grabsnuck asked.

Harry looked to Drake, who correctly guessed his charge's question and shook his head slightly. He had no need of Harry's money. "No one else, sir," Harry confirmed.

"Very well," Grabsnuck said, before placing a clawed hand over the parchment and muttering some more words. "There you go," he said, handing the key back to Harry. "Come to us when you're 17, and we'll give you access to your family vault." He pulled out another piece of parchment that Harry realized was probably his bank statement, a supposition Grabsnuck confirmed. "Your statement."

Peering over the parchment, Harry did not know what to make of the numbers. He looked towards Mr. Drake, and handed the parchment over to him. "Can you tell me what this means?" he asked.

"Of course," Mr. Drake agreed. It seemed fairly straightforward, with the account number on top, and a figure he assumed represented the starting amount of the trust. He raised an eyebrow at the amount. It seemed the Potters were quite wealthy, if this represented a mere trust fund. To his relief, the account did not show any withdrawals in the last decade. "Everything seems in order," he commented. "Thank you, Master Grabsnuck."

Harry picked up on Mr. Drake's cue, and followed suit. "Thank you for your help, sir," he piped up. The goblin looked at them with a mixture of surprise and impatience. He nodded, muttered something that must have been goodbye, and bent his head down towards the papers on his desk. Clearly, the goblin had dismissed the two of them, so they left.

"Do you need any money, Harry?" Drake asked, once they were once again in the lobby.

Harry nodded. "Miss McGonagall allowed me to take only a little over what the school supplies cost. I only have a little bit left. If we're going to the bookstore, I should bring more."

"Very well, let's go."

***

Flourish and Blotts looked exactly as Harry had described. Drake and Harry made their way slowly through each section of the store, choosing a cross-section of books, from introductory to more advanced. They paid particular attention to the history section, especially given Harry's particular status.

"Excuse me, is there anything specifically for those new to the wizarding world?" Harry asked one of the attendants. She showed them the small section designed for muggleborns and even gave them some advice as to which books were worth purchasing.

"Some of these are really unhelpful," she commented with a shrug.

"Thank you," Harry said, before he and Drake browsed the selection she pointed out. They took their time, choosing the ones she had pointed out as helpful, and a few of the ones she had dismissed.

By the time they made it to the counter to pay, their baskets were full. The cashier chuckled as they took the books out. "Replacing your library, then?" he asked.

"Quite," Drake commented.

"I'll give you a catalogue, in case you need to update your books," the cashier stated as he rang up their total. Harry paid the merchant and thanked him, as he also placed a voice-activated unshrinking charm on the books.

Once they left the bookstore, Drake guided his charge towards a pet store. "Since your books indicate that wizards communicate with owls, I thought it prudent for us to purchase one. I will not leave you in the wizarding world without a means of communicating with me."

Harry broke out in a smile. "Thanks, Mr. Drake." He had worried that he would not have Mr. Drake's advice to count on, once he got to Hogwarts. And while he knew he would have to learn to make his own decisions, without approval from Mr. Drake, he also liked knowing that he could rely on it for a while longer.

Together, the duo looked over the owls on display. A pure white snowy owl attracted their attention, and before long, they had purchased her and the necessary supplies to see to her care. "You can keep her with me," Drake announced, before Harry could ask. He smiled in relief, knowing that the Dursleys would not care to have an owl living with them.

Harry tried to give them as little to complain about as possible. It made his life easier.


	3. Chapter 3

It took the two of them until the last week of August to finish reading through the books they had purchased. From the books, Drake and Harry pieced together an idea of what the wizarding world was like. First and foremost, came the knowledge that many people adored Harry for his defeat of Voldemort. Similarly, many hated him for the same. It was not spelt out on the bare page, of course. Nonetheless, the thread of bigotry that laced the books – both history and those aimed for muggleborns – made it clear that even with Voldemort dead, there were plenty that still upheld his views. It made Drake very uneasy. He did not like leaving Harry to deal with this on his own. For one, Harry was far too young. He should not have to worry about adults threatening him, simply because he had unwittingly managed to kill the leader of the pureblood movement.

"You will need to be careful, Harry," he cautioned. "You cannot reveal who you really are. Just as we have gathered as much information as possible about the wizarding world, so too will the wizards do about you."

"Maybe I should stay here," Harry offered.

Drake shook his head. "No. They would not allow you to remain outside the wizarding world. You are too important to them." And he pointedly quoted passages from various books that emphasized the cult that had grown around the concept of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Then what do I do?" Harry sounded frightened, and well he should, Drake thought grimly. A young boy, kept away from the wizarding world, not knowing anything about it? Someone had planned well. And John Drake would not allow his charge to enter the fray without the support he needed. While no plan survived engagement, he could provide Harry with the basics that would allow him to navigate his new world. While he might not know anything about magic, Drake did know about intrigues.

"We present them with what they expect. The-Boy-Who-Lived is a hero of the light side. He defeated the darkest wizard the wizarding world had seen. They will expect you to be sorted into Gryffindor, the house of the brave."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "I don't know if I would like Gryffindor."

Drake nodded. "I don't know if you are best suited for it. You're probably far too cautious for it." He stared seemingly at nothing, before sighing. "I wish we had known of your past before now. I could have helped you more. Made it so you _could_, if you tried, fit into Gryffindor." He shook his head. "No matter. We can't change the past, and must move forward. You have a choice, Harry. Aim for Gryffindor, as the wizarding world expects – and on the off chance you will be accepted there - or aim for a harmless house, like Ravenclaw."

"But not Slytherin," Harry asserted confidently.

Drake shook his head. "No, they would not like it if you ended up in Slytherin."

"What about Hufflepuff?"

Again, Drake shook his head. "As loyal and hardworking as you are, Harry, Hufflepuff would not suit you – you are too selective when it comes to who you give loyalty to," he snorted. This bedamned insistence on 'sorting' you into a House… People shouldn't be sorted." And he looked at Harry with an intent look. "Promise me, Harry. No matter what happens, you will not let them place you into a box, categorize you. You are unique, you are not a number."

Harry nodded, but looked confused, not really understanding what Drake meant. "I don't really understand," he finally confessed.

Drake clasped Harry by the shoulders, staring into Harry's eyes. "Society likes to place everyone into a defined place, to confine them within boundaries. You will already have this problem, because they will see you as the Boy-Who-Lived. You can use that, to help you to do what you must in the wizarding world. We don't know what you'll face when you're at Hogwarts. You will likely have enemies, those that followed that Dark Lord you supposedly defeated, or ones who believe as he did. You will have those who only want to be seen with you because of who you are. You must choose carefully who you are friends with, and who you confide in. But more than that, you must learn as much as you can. Only with as much knowledge as possible, can you make the decisions you need to make your own decisions. Don't forget that part of gaining knowledge is asking others who might know more than you about a particular situation, for advice. In the end though, you need to decide for yourself, the path you wish to take. This is what I mean, Harry. Do not let others mold you into someone you don't want to be."

Again, Harry nodded. His brow furrowed in thought, and he bit his lip.

"I will leave you to think about what I said. We can talk about your school later." Harry didn't even hear Drake leave, something he considered a good thing. It meant the boy was thinking.

***

Harry didn't even bother asking Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia for a ride to King's Station. Mr. Drake had offered - well told – them he would drive their nephew in their stead, and not surprisingly, they didn't protest. For his part, Harry felt more nervous about what September 1 meant. It had taken him a couple of days to figure out what Mr. Drake had meant, when he admonished him not to let the wizarding world make his decisions for him. But he also worried that no matter how much he prepared, and how much he learned, he would not break free of what others wanted from him. Of course, as Mr. Drake might say, that was life.

Finding Platform 9 and ¾s didn't take nearly as long as Harry had feared. Mr. Drake helped him through the portal, and then helped him load his trunk and owl onto the train and find a compartment. Harry didn't want Mr. Drake to leave him, but also knew he had to stand up on his own. Hogwarts and the wizarding world didn't belong to Mr. Drake; they belonged to Harry, and he needed to become comfortable in it.

"Remember to write, Harry. And remember what I've taught you. You're welcome to stay with me during the holidays," Mr. Drake admonished.

"I will," Harry vowed, not wanting to let his mentor down. "I'll miss you."

Mr. Drake looked down at him fondly. He bent to his knees and met Harry's eyes with his own. "And I you. You are a very special boy, Harry, one I'm proud of. So very proud." He pulled the boy into a hug, saying his goodbye, lending him strength. Whatever Harry needed. It was something he had always given to Harry, making up for the Dursley's inability to look beyond the fact he was a wizard.

Pulling back, Mr. Drake gave him one last smile. With his trademark salute, he left the carriage. "Be seeing you, Harry."

Harry blinked back tears as Mr. Drake left him. And then he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. Mr. Drake had taken him in and taught him the basics of what he thought Harry would need to know. Yes, Harry was a wizard, but it did not mean the skills learned over the last couple of years would not translate over. If nothing else, Mr. Drake's insistence on learning as much as he could before making a decision would do him well.

Settling into his seat, he peered out the window, looking at the mill of the crowd on the platform, taking in the sights and sounds of this hidden world that was now his own. For the longest time, no one entered his carriage, giving Harry time to calm himself while observing everyone else. Eventually, he pulled a book out of his trunk. He would wait to see whom – if anyone – decided to join him. He couldn't help but think there had to be a better way of introducing children like him to the wizarding world than this.

"Excuse me, may I sit in here?" a hesitant voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned his head and saw a young girl standing in the doorway.

"Of course," he replied with a small grin. She returned his smile, and entered. He helped her with her luggage and sat back down.

"My name is Susan Bones," she introduced herself.

"Harry Potter." He noted that she looked a bit startled, her eye going towards his scar. He wondered if everyone would do that. Happily, she did not ask any questions about the night his parents died. Both he and Mr. Drake had noticed that the books regarding the reign of Voldemort waxed poetic about something no one knew about. They had prepared a few statements of how he would respond, should someone be so gauche as to ask. Harry hoped he would not have to use any of them. He suspected he would have to though.

Susan seemed to sense his unease, and launched into a short speech about herself and her life in the wizarding world. He learned that like him, she was an orphan and lived with her aunt, who worked for the Ministry with the aurors. In turn, he shared a bit about his life, glossing over his life with the Dursleys, and instead focusing on all that Mr. Drake had given to him. He thought that Mr. Drake might like Susan's aunt, if he didn't dislike the government and its officials so much.

By the time the train departed King's Cross, their compartment had gained three others: a set of twins, Parvati and Padma Patil, and another boy, Neville Longbottom. Of them all, only Harry had not grown up in the wizarding world. Neville lived with his grandmother, and the Patils with their parents. To Harry's relief, they all seemed nervous about attending Hogwarts, even having grown up with magic. They took the time to explain the basics of the wizarding world to him, something he appreciated because it gave him a viewpoint that didn't come from books.

Harry enjoyed his trip to Hogwarts. The only situation that marred it, was when a rather spoiled young boy barged in, demanding an introduction. Flanked by two others, he thrust a hand out. "I've heard that Harry Potter is in here. My name is Draco Malfoy."

Harry exchanged a look with the others in his compartment, before standing. "I'm Harry," he stated cautiously. He recognized the surname as belonging to one of Voldemort's supporters, who had avoided jail because of being under something called the _imperious _curse. Most of the history books he had read, insisted that Mr. Malfoy was an unfortunate victim of Voldemort. However, it seemed that many of Mr. Malfoy's associates suffered from the same misfortune. It could be mere coincidence, but Harry thought, and Mr. Drake agreed, that it seemed unlikely. Harry knew he needed to play this very carefully. He shook Malfoy's hand, wondering if he would introduce his two companions. He did not.

"You know Potter, not all wizarding families are the right sort. I can introduce you to them," he officiously offered.

"Thank you," Harry said politely. "I appreciate that your help, but Susan, Parvati, Padma and Neville have already offered me help, and I've accepted. But if I have any questions they can't answer, I'll come to you."

Malfoy flushed pink – in embarrassment? Or anger? Harry couldn't tell. "Fine," he bit out. He seemed to hesitate a moment, before taking a look at Susan. He must have seen something in her face, because he turned around and left.

"Harry…" Susan began cautiously, exchanging a look with Neville. "be careful around Malfoy. His father supported You-Know-Who."

He nodded in reply. "I don't want to antagonize anyone yet." He gave them a crooked grin. "Now, you were telling me about wizarding candy?" and he steered the conversation back to one less fraught with tension.

***

Hogwarts was a beautiful sight. All around Harry, his fellow first year students looked with mouths agape. He had not really seen any castles growing up, but even if he had, he suspected Hogwarts would still eclipse them. "It's beautiful," he muttered to Susan, who stood next to him. She nodded in agreement.

Miss McGonagall greeted them at the entrance, introducing herself as Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor House. She looked and sounded as stern as Harry remembered. She gave a tight smile as she explained that they would each be sorted into one of four Houses. Harry paid close attention to her, and his surroundings. He wanted to make sure that he could learn whatever he could from her – both by what she said, and what she didn't say.

A few minutes later, she led them into the Great Hall. Harry looked up in awe at the ceiling. If this was what magic could do, it was incredible! He overheard one of his future classmates talking about how _Hogwarts: A History_ said it was charmed to mirror the actual sky. '

Once they reached the front of the room, they gathered around a stool with an old hat on top of it. This, apparently, was how they would be sorted. Harry wondered if the entire wizarding world was so quaint – especially when it started to sing.

As Professor McGonagall called up each of his classmates, Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He waited patiently for his own name to be called, and once it was, he walked confidently to the front, trying his best to ignore the increased whispering that followed. He smiled nervously at Professor McGonagall, who nodded her head slightly in acknowledgment. He sat, and the Hat descended on his head.

'_Ah… Harry Potter. So many people are interested to see what House you're sorted into. Let's see… aren't you a sly little thing? So very, very clever. Full of thirst, to prove yourself, but also for knowledge. Brave… oh yes, very brave, but only for what you believe in. Where to put you?'_

'_Please, Hat. I would like Gryffindor or Ravenclaw,' _Harry requested.

'_Are you sure? Slytherin would suit you, help you prove yourself to your aunt and uncle,' the Hat wheedled. _

'_I'm certain,' _Harry told it firmly.

'_Gryffindor wouldn't suit you – but then… you knew that.' It remained quite for a moment. 'Very well, young Potter. You're for…'_ Ravenclaw! it shouted.

Harry smiled as he stood from the stool, placing the Hat back on the stool. Both he and Mr. Drake had known getting into Gryffindor was a long shot, but Ravenclaw was a nice second choice. He joined his cheery Housemates, smiling as he sat next to Padma, who had been sorted there earlier. He was glad to have at least someone he knew in the same House as him. He didn't know what the future would bring, but he rather thought she could become a friend. He hoped so, at least.

By the time the Welcoming Feast had ended, Harry was both exhausted and full of good food. He sleepily followed his House to their dorms, doing his best to memorize the path. Given how big the castle was, he knew if would take some time for him to learn his way around. The prefects gave them a short speech, before sending them to bed. Before he went to sleep, Harry wrote a short letter to Mr. Drake, letting him know what had happened this night. Yawning, he climbed into bed. He was sure that tomorrow would be a long day.

***

That night, back at No. 6 Privet Drive, Drake wondered how Harry would deal with being along at Hogwarts, without Drake there to offer advice. He didn't know the wizarding world, and even if he learned as much as he could, he still won't know it. Harry would have to make his own decisions, using the skills Drake taught him these last two years.

He just hoped the boy was ready.

/fin

**Author's Note:** This ends the first arc. I will be returning to this 'verse with the exploits and Harry and co. in the future. However, I have a list of fics that I need to finish first, before I even think about writing the next part.


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